


Amorousness and Anachronism

by MostDismalFeldsparkle (Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Human AU(Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle/pseuds/MostDismalFeldsparkle
Summary: Just a bit of Faux Regency fun, really?Any historical accuracy, whatsoever, ispurelycoincidental.Andunlikely.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	Amorousness and Anachronism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HenryHarryLarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryHarryLarry/gifts).



Crowley glared at it. “Okay, yes, _fine_. I’m sure, it’s a lovely horse. But... why does it has a _feather_ on it?”

Shadwell pulled himself up to his full height. Which was actually slightly shorter than Crowley’s full height. But, despite this, and despite how stiff-necked the man was, Shadwell never failed to look _down_ his nose, at Crowley.  


And, _alas_ , when this happened, Crowley never managed to fail looking _up_ Shadwell’s nose, at Shadwell.

“A plumed bridle is the height of fashion! It marks ye as a gentleman of distinction!” Shadwell snapped at him.

To make matters worse, because they were back from ‘ _away_ ’ - from where everyone but Crowley called ‘the colony’, (and from where Crowley called ‘the home of the poor bastards we are currently murdering’) - Shadwell snapped at Crowley...in _LIVERY_.

“But all that nonsense is for _town_ , surely!” Crowley whined. “We are in the country! Horses don’t have feathers, in the country. In the country, people care about the difference between horses and birds. In the country, wizened villagers sit the young ones on their knees, and impart such wisdoms as the difference between horses and birds. Around a crackling fire. While everyone eats turnip soup, because the last harvest was shit. I’m _not_ using a plumed bridle in the country.”

Shadwell glared. “You will get your skinny buttocks on that nag, ride around the neighbourhood, introduce yourself to your neighbours, and find one stupid enough to give you a daughter to marry.”

“But, I don’t _want_ to marry a daughter.” Crowley muttered.  


Crowley’s taste didn’t run to daughters. 

“Then ye should have joined the priesthood, or the army,” Shadwell replied, impatiently. 

“Don’t want to join the army,” Crowley muttered.  


And, he didn’t. Too much order-following, in the army. Admittedly there would be considerably fewer people whose orders he’d have to follow, than if he were _poor_ , of course. But, short of being immediately madeCommander Lord General, or similar, Crowley and the army were not made to get on with each other.  
  


And, the priesthood was a complete non-starter.  


_Obviously_.

The horse stamped and snorted, impatiently. 

“What’s his problem?” Crowley muttered.

“Ahh, don’t worry about him. He’s a wee bit tetchy, because of getting gelded...”

“What’s ‘gelded’?”

“ _Gelded_ is what your father will do to you, if you don’t marry and sire an heir. So, laddie! Up on the horse, up to the neighbors, up to the altar, then up on a daughter.Off you go.”

“ _Ugghhh_ ,” Crowley replied, his spine attempting to escape the situation quite a bit faster than the rest of him. “All of that is just... _ugghhh_.”

But, he got on the horse, thinking that Shadwell was a bigger pain in the arse than any horse could _ever_ be. 

Five miles on the horse proved him wrong. Ten miles on the horse proved him _very_ wrong.

Two sets of neighbours were out, so Crowley got away with leaving cards. At two other houses, he got stuck watching daughters and their mothers _embroider_ , while he failed to make polite conversation.  


One daughter played the piano, for a bit, which spared Crowley from small talk, but very nearly had him attempt to take out his own eardrums with an embroidery needle. A sister of the piano-player was sewing. Crowley stole her scissors, cut open a pillow, pulled out some of the fleece inside, and stuffed his own ears with it.

  
They all _definitely_ noticed, but pretended they didn’t. In London, this sort of stunt would have ended the question of marriage in the area, once and for all, once the gossip mill got grinding. But thesecountry girls were older, and more desperate. All it took for Crowley to be appealing, was for him to be less obnoxious than their mothers.

It was _definitely_ time to turn up the obnoxious.

On the way to the next house, it started to rain. _Bad weather! God bless England, after all!_ Crowley whooped aloud, and turned his basalt-backed horse into a shortcut, across some fields, that Crowley thought he... _probably owned???_

At the top of the ridge, however, a flash of muddy-white caught his eye. 

“It’s a sheep,” Crowley told himself. 

Probably one of _his_ sheep.

Probably hurt.

Probably dying.

In the rain

In the mud.

In the rainy mud.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.”

He rode the horse over. Damn thing was _obsessed_ with trotting, despite having flanks of bloody marble. 

“My kingdom for a nice, soft chubby ride,” Crowley muttered.   
  


Then, he realised the dying, muddy sheep, was actually a slightly injured, muddy _person_.

A rosy, soft, angelic-looking person, flushed red with embarrassment, and whose clothes were getting stickier, and more transparent, the longer Crowley stood there in the rain gawping.

Crowley decided to stop gawping, anyway.

“Took a bit of a tumble did we?” he said. Instead of hello. Because _Crowley_.

“Oh, good day, dear chap,” the adorable stranger trilled. “I’m in a spot of bother! I set off to have a brisk walk, and I seem to have had a quick roll in the hay-field, instead...”

“Fancy another one?” asked Crowley. Again, because _Crowley_.

“Pardon me?” the stranger asked, batting golden eyelashes, and big blue eyes. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“You’re _something else_ ,” Crowley replied.

The stranger frowned. “No, _definitely_ Aziraphale. And it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?”

  
  


“ _Ngk_.”

  
  


“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Ngk,” the stranger answered, cherubically happy again, in a now _very transparent_ shirt. “Now, I do wonder, if you might do me the courtesy of ascertaining if my ankle is broken?”

An ankle was presented to Crowley. Crowley peered at it, very carefully. “I don’t know what a broken ankle looks like...”

The stranger pouted. “Presumably you know what an unbroken ankle _feels_ like, having two yourself. So, have a feel. There’s a good chap!”

“ _Ngk_ ”

The stranger bobbed the ankle, impatiently. “Fine. Have a feel. There’s a good Mr Ngk!”

Crowley checked the ankle. And the knee, for good measure. Tricky things, knees.

“I’ve got to find, and marry, a daughter in this miserable county,” Crowley muttered. “Don’t happen to know any bearable daughters, do you?”

“Not really, no. Daughters aren’t really my thing.” Aziraphale sighed. “Could you perhaps check the other ankle? Just in case?”

Crowley reached for the other ankle. “Actually, daughters aren’t really _my_ thing, either. What I’d _actually_ like, is something more in the way of a boon companion. Does that... interest you, at all?”

“What? _Booning_?” Aziraphale took a very very long look at Crowley’s lips. “Actually, I very much wouldn’t mind a good boon.A good boon would be very agreeable, indeed.”

“Then, come back with me to my place,” Crowley purred. “Although, I’m afraid your buttocks are in for a pounding.... from the horse ride.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ve plenty of padding. Is your place close by? Only, I’m drenched to the very _bone,_ here.”

“Nice warm fire, at my place. We can get you out of those clothes and into... bed-clothes. I mean, clothes, for bed.Can’t have you sleeping on wet bed-clothes.”

“All this, _and_ a gentleman,” Aziraphale purred. 

Crowley smiled. “Oh, you’ve _no_ idea!”


End file.
